The Crossover Job
by WuHaoNi
Summary: Neal helps out. Sophie plays big sister. And Nate wonders why he stopped drinking.


**Disclaimer:** I do not own Leverage nor White Collar.

**A/N: **Because Leverage and White Collar were begging to be crossed over.

* * *

><p>"It's Neal Caffrey," said Parker, stepping back from the painting with a wide grin.<p>

That was all it took for the air to be sucked out of the Leverage conference room as Nate and Sophie simultaneously digested this news in relative disquiet. Parker, on the other hand, continued to beam wildly.

Eliot took in the two differing reactions and came to the conclusion that Caffrey was as batshit crazy as Parker.

"Who's Neal Caffrey?" Hardison asked.

"Poncy little upstart," said Sophie at once.

Hardison raised an eyebrow at the level of venom in her voice.

"He's one of the best in the business—if not _the_ best," Nate explained. "He and Sophie had several..._encounters_ in the past."

"He _conned_ me out of that Degas!" Sophie burst out. "And you're one to talk—tell them how you never managed to get him on anything."

"He's slippery," Nate acknowledged with eerie calm.

"Parker?"

"He had blue eyes," she said dreamily. "And nice hair."

Hardison's eyebrow inched higher. "You didn't...?"

"He let me wear his hat when we were—"

"Girl, I don't need to hear anymore!" Hardison exclaimed, throwing his hands up.

"Are you sure you want to be on this one?" Nate asked Sophie.

Sophie's face was inscrutable. "I'm sure, Nate."

Nate held her gaze for a few seconds before: "Okay, guys. Let's find Neal Caffrey."

* * *

><p>They found him hunched over a hotel bar in downtown Manhattan. His suit jacket was draped casually over the chair next to him. A fedora perched on top of it. His tie was loose and there was an empty shot glass next to him, ice melting lazily into the bourbon.<p>

Nate knew it was bourbon. He could smell it from here.

"What can I get for ya?" the bartender asked.

He was a hulking giant, with bristling blonde eyebrows and a thick New York accent. With someone like him manning the bar, he certainly discouraged patrons form starting a fight.

"Water," said Neal, watching Caffrey closely.

He didn't react.

"Gin and tonic," said Sophie, slipping onto the stool next to Neal.

Neal's shoulders tensed, but that was all.

"And for you, Miss?" the bartender said to Parker, who was staring down Caffrey's neck with her usual single-mindedness.

"I like this hat," said Parker, lifting the hat up and jamming it on her head.

Only then did Caffrey turn. There was clear anger in his eyes and Nate wondered if he had made a mistake in not bringing Eliot, in thinking that Caffrey was harmless. But the anger faded as quickly as it had appeared and Caffrey smiled, brightly even.

"Hello, Parker."

"Are ya going to get anythin'?" the bartender asked, exasperated.

"No." Parker pinned him with a laser sharp look.

"Okay, then." The bartender held up his hands and turned away to make Sophie's drink.

The ice cubes clinked against the glass as Caffrey took a sip.

"What are you doing here?" He spoke only to Parker, ignoring Sophie entirely. His eyes flicked to Nate once, curious perhaps as to what Nate was doing around with the two women.

"We came to talk," said Sophie, leaning backwards in her chair.

"I wasn't talking to _you_," said Caffrey forcefully.

The words came out in a rush, and hung there, and Caffrey, embarrassed by his outburst, found the strength to give a smile.

"So…Parker…" He leaned forward, all innocence and charm.

"Not here, Neal," Parker said, as they had practiced on the ride over. "We can't tell you here."

His tone changed to cajoling. "Oh, come on…"

"You heard her," said Nate lowly. He stepped closer and Caffrey drew back a little. "Not here."

"Then I'm not interested," Caffrey said flatly. "In whatever it is."

He reached into his pocket and threw a twenty on the bar, hopping off his stool. He swayed a little and then shrugged on his suit jacket.

"My hat, Parker," said Caffrey.

Parker leaned forward, invading his personal bubble far more than was necessary. She stared him dead in the eyes, and Caffrey plucked his hat from her head.

"You looked good in it," he said, smiling. "And now, my wallet."

Parker sulked, but handed over his wallet nonetheless.

Caffrey took a step forward and stumbled. Nate instinctively reached out and caught him before he toppled forward.

"Thanks," Caffrey said, looking embarrassed.

He steadied himself with a hand on the stool.

"Are you sure you can get home?" Sophie asked, concerned.

"It's been a pleasure, Parker," Neal said, running his thumb and forefinger around the brim in a salute.

And he walked shakily out of the room.

"Damnit," said Nate. He shook his head and slid into the chair that Neal had vacated.

Sophie stirred her drink idly.

"Did you really think he would go with us?"

"I shouldn't have brought you," Nate said. "I knew that it was a mistake."

"Nate. Do you really think this is my fault?"

"I could think of some convincing reasons."

"Like what?"

"Well, the fact that he _hates_ you, for one."

"He doesn't hate me," Sophie said at once.

Nate stayed silent.

"Does he?" she said, turning to him.

"That wasn't brotherly love, Sophie."

Sophie subsided.

"How long has it been?"

"Been?"

"Since you talked to him."

"Before he went to jail."

"You didn't visit?"

"I couldn't. Someone would recognize me."

"You're telling me that you didn't have a character that would allow you to visit your baby brother in prison?"

"I was afraid that he would tell me he hated me."

"Why would he hate you?"

"Because of all this." Sophie gestured aimlessly. "I got him into it, you know. The stealing. The lust for art. Wanting something more that you can't rightfully have, so you get it anyway you can."

"Theft isn't genetic, Sophie."

"Neal was ten years old when he stole for the first time," Sophie admitted with a sigh that was not entirely theatrical. "Once a thief, always a thief."

"Nothing you can do about it now."

Sophie shook her head. "I suppose it's in the past anyway."

"It's in the past, anyway," Sophie said.

Nate reached into his coat pocket and his hand closed around…nothing. Frowning he checked his other pockets.

"Parker?"

"What?" Parker asked from where she was making an elaborate maze with peanuts.

"Did you take my wallet?"

"No. Not this time."

"Are you goin' to clean that up?" asked the bartender.

"No."

Nate groaned out. "That clever little bastard. He conned all of us. He's got my wallet."

"That means he's interested."

"I know what it means. It also means that I'm going to be paying for a 200 dollar dinner at Leone's. It's his favourite way of getting my attention."

* * *

><p>"I can trace your credit card," Hardison offered, fingers already poised over his keyboard. "There's no way Caffrey can hide from me."<p>

"No need. When he's ready, he'll call."

The telephone rang. Five pairs of eyes stared at it.

"That was quick," Nate observed, picking up the phone. "Hello?"

"Is this Social Security?" the voice on the other end croaked.

"Sorry. Wrong number."

Eliot snorted a cough into his fist.

Caffrey didn't call the next day. Nor the day after. On Thursday, however, the phone rang. Hardison who had been 'volunteered' for phone watching duty, gave Eliot a weary sigh.

"Can you get that, man?"

"It's your turn. You do it," said Eliot, who was flipping through _Guns and Amo_.

"I'm busy."

Eliot reached over and turned off his computer. "Now you're _not_ busy."

Hardison gaped at him. "Did you—just—you _did_..."

"Phone."

"I was on Level 9, man!" Hardison exclaimed.

"Ask me if I care."

Hardison reached out and grabbed Eliot's magazine. "Ha!"

He beamed triumphantly.

And quickly realized What He Had Done.

"I am—so sorry, man," Hardison apologised, sliding the magazine back. "Which page were you on?"

The fury didn't abate from Eliot's face. A low growl emitted from his throat.

Hardison started to slide from his seat, sensing imminent danger.

"Oh no you don't!" Eliot exclaimed, as Hardison launched himself from the room. "Get back here!"

"Will someone get the phone?" yelled Nate from the kitchen where he was making a sandwich.

He emerged to see Eliot hitting Hardison repeatedly with the rolled up magazine, and grumbled under his breath.

He wandered over to the phone. "Hello?"

"Do you like wine, Nate?" Caffrey purred into the phone. "You used to love it."

"Not anymore."

"Turning over a new leaf?"

"More like twelve steps."

Nate heard rustling in the background.

"That's a shame, because there's a bottle of Chianti outside your door."

"Outside...?" Nate put his hand over the mouthpiece. "Parker, check outside. See if there's a bottle of wine there."

He waited.

Parker came back, holding the bottle, and staring down at it suspiciously. Nate's mouth was watering just looking at it. Expensive. Good quality. Exactly to Caffrey's taste. He suddenly remembered exactly why he enjoyed chasing Caffrey so much.

"Here." She set it down on the table. "There's a note attached."

"What does it say?"

"_Dear Nate and friends, I was intrigued by your proposal the other day and would like to discuss it further. I will call with further instructions. XOXOXO, Neal."_

Nate took out the bottle and hefted it in his hands.

"I got your message," Nate said into the phone. "Dare I ask how much it costs?"

"You can afford it."

"How much?"

"Let's not get hung up on expense."

"You're a hard man to track down, Neal."

Caffrey huffed a laugh. "Believe me, you're not the first person to tell me that. So, what are we dealing with? Insurance fraud?"

"I see you've done your research. Unfortunately, I've moved out of that line of work."

"So I've heard. I take it the art of the con was too much of a lure for you?"

Nate frowned. "Who have you been talking to?"

"Oh, my sources are all anonymous. You know how it is."

"Was it Sophie?"

"No."

"It was Sophie." Nate grimaced. "Well, we could use your help."

"I don't know if you've heard, but I'm kind of on a leash nowadays. And it's not a figurative leash."

"One of my guys, Hardison, can take care of that tracker for you. A little computer magic, and you're free to roam."

"It's a little more complicated than that." Caffrey sighed. "Look, if you bring whatever it is down to my flat, I can look at it for you. But I can't get involved in one of your cons, Nate."

"Okay, then. Fair enough. What's the address?"

* * *

><p>"He lives <em>here<em>?" Sophie protested quietly to Nate as they were escorted by Caffrey's…landlady (if you could call her that) up to his flat.

Nate shrugged as Caffrey's landlady knocked on the door.

"Visitors, Neal," she called, and winked at Nate knowingly.

Nate, hefting a painting in his hands, grinned back.

"I can't believe he's living here," Sophie said to herself.

"Still doing the accent?" Caffrey said, opening the door.

Sophie shot Caffrey a look. "Don't start, Neal."

Caffrey held up his hands. "Just making an observation."

They stepped inside the flat, and Nate give it an appreciative once over. Caffrey clearly had taste.

At the table, there was a short, balding man with glasses.

"Who's this?" Nate asked.

"Mozzie," Sophie said with that smile she wore when amused. She extended a hand, and Mozzie bent over it, lips brushing her skin.

"Sophie, I see you and Neal are getting along again."

"We're not," Caffrey said, crossing his arms. "This is just a small favour."

Nate propped the painting up on one of the dining room tables. "Did you do this?"

"Yeah, that's mine. Why?"

"An art collector has been unknowingly selling fakes and passing them off as the real deal. We need to know what happened to the original."

Mozzie and Caffrey exchanged glances.

"He doesn't have a very good eye for forgeries, then," Caffrey said.

"London?" asked Mozzie.

"No, Paris," Caffrey replied.

"It's in Paris?" Nate asked incredulously.

Caffrey shook his head. "No, Vegas. It's in Vegas."

"How many hiding places do you have?" Nate said.

"I painted it in Paris, and it made its way to Vegas, where it stays."

"We need it."

Caffrey looked at Nate. "For what?"

"To give it back to the original owner."

"_Technically_, the original owner is a Parisian Ministry employee."

"Neal," Sophie began. "If we don't get that painting, someone might die."

"Sophie, I've heard that one before."

"You don't understand…" Sophie sighed. "The art collector? He's going to get his knee caps shot by the Italian mafia if he doesn't produce the original painting."

Sophie knew exactly which buttons to push, Nate marvelled. It was clear that Caffrey was going to fold before he nodded his head.

"Only Sophie goes into that safehouse, understand?"

"Right," Nate said. They could do that much.

He watched as Caffrey whispered into his sister's ear. Sophie gave a charming little laugh and stepped back.

"Okay, Neal." She patted him on the arm. "It's good to see you. Keep in touch."

"I won't."

Sophie ignored him. "Mozzie, always a pleasure."

Nate extended a hand to Caffrey. "Thanks for your help."

"Yeah," Caffrey said quietly.

And with a wink and a kiss, Sophie disappeared from her brother's life once again.


End file.
